I swam back to have another try, but Bigley stopped me as I was about to dive off.
“No, no,” he said; “it’s of no use. You can’t get down there without a killick or some other weight.”
“But I’m not sure it is the silver,” I cried in a despairing tone.
“But I am,” he said. “The boxes are lying all about. They look like stones if you stare down, because they are all amongst the weed; but when I got down to feel for the grapnel I was right upon them. It’s in amongst them somehow. That was why I came up again and tried to fasten the line round one.”
“But are you quite sure, Big?” I said, trembling with eagerness.
“Quite sure,” he said. “There can’t be any mistake about it. The Frenchman’s boat ran on the rock and capsized, and all the chests must have gone to the bottom like a shot.”
“And my poor father suffering all that worry, when here lay all his silver at the bottom, close to the shore. Here, what shall we do, Bigley? We must stop and watch it, for fear anybody else should come and find it.”
“No fear of that,” he said, drawing the rope once more through the ring-bolt, and then securing the boat-hook to the end, and throwing it overboard to act as a buoy. “Here, let’s dress and go and tell him.”
“Yes, yes,” I cried, trembling with eagerness, and hurrying on my clothes, as he did his, we rowed ashore, and after hauling the boat back to its safe place, climbed up the slope, and prepared to walk to the Bay.
“Big,” I said; “I’m afraid to leave it. Suppose while we are gone someone goes and takes it all away.”